I cut her zip tie.
“What are you doing?” She sits up and stretches, looking out toward the porthole, which glows with the rosy light of sunrise. Her pale skin is flushed with sleep, making those blue eyes pop against her dark lashes.
“Everyone’s asleep, do you want to go out on the deck for some fresh air?”
She rewards me with a brilliant smile, as if I’ve offered a day at the beach. “Totally.” She climbs out of bed, dropping the covers.
I pick up the blankets and wrap them back around her. “It’s freezing out there. Let’s keep you warm.”
She beams another achingly beautiful smile.
I can’t help but let my lips curve up in response.
“Do I have to wear shoes?”
I look at her stocking feet, then turn to offer her my back, bending my knees. “Hop on.”
I love how she does it immediately.
I carry her on my back up the stairs and out to the deck. The spray of ocean air hits our faces, and Kat inhales audibly then sighs. I bring her to the rail and swing her down to stand on my feet in front of me, looking out at the sea.
“Sunrise is my favorite,” she says. Her voice is still husky from sleep.
“Yeah? Why?”
She shrugs. “It’s like clay. Even if you totally screw up while throwing the pot, you can just ball it up and start over. That’s what morning is.”
I puzzle over that, but she goes on. “No matter what happened the day before, everything feels fresh and new in the morning. Like a do-over, you know?”
A do-over. That’s what I need.
A chance to start over again with Kat. With this endeavor. Remold the clay.
How would I do it differently?
I probably should have called Ravil. Waited for more intel. Created a sounder plan.
“Before my mom left, mornings were our special time. My dad stayed up all night and slept until noon. My mom and I had the run of the house.” She turns to look at me. “Like you and I have the run of the ship now.”
God help me, I can’t stop the thud of my heart against my chest. The need to kiss her senseless.
I indulge my desire, capturing her face in my hands and claiming those sweet, tender lips.
She kisses me back, looping her arms around my neck and hanging a little, as if her legs won’t hold her up.
“Do you think they have any tea?” she asks when we break our lip lock.
“Hmm. I don’t know. They seemed more like straight vodka types, but let’s go see what we can find.” I turn and offer her my back again. “Hop on, malyshka.”
She jumps on, and I carry her to the mess hall where things are…a disgusting mess still from last night. I find a couple mugs and wash them in the sink before filling them with water and putting them in the microwave.
Kat doesn’t find any tea, but she does find packets of hot cocoa, which we empty into the heated water and stir around with a clean spoon.
I pull up a stool for her to perch on while I cook a few eggs in a pan. She sips her hot cocoa and watches me, still bundled up in the blankets from our bed.
Our bed.
I don’t know when there became an our anything.
Maybe it was the moment we made it on the ship. After she let me put her in a crate and didn’t even try to cut off my dick when I let her out.
Her trust in me changed everything.
It’s becoming increasingly impossible for me to go on with my plan.
Tomorrow we have another port stop in Antwerp before we sail to America. I can use the phone and call Ravil. Talk through my options. Get a clear head about this situation.
I shove the eggs onto a plate and grab two forks. “Back to our room.” I tip my head in the direction of the door.
“Back to prison?” she asks although there’s no rancor. This surprising, crazy girl can’t seem to hold a grudge against me for all the cruelty I’ve subjected her to.
“Da. Prison for you.”
She hops off the stool and picks up both our hot cocoa mugs. The blankets trail on the floor as she walks ahead in her stocking feet. “Do I get mean sex?”
“Only if you’re good.”
Kat
Adrian paces our tiny room. It’s late evening, and we’ve been cooped up here all day. The ship seems still. I think it dropped anchor. Adrian says they have one more port stop tomorrow before they sail across the ocean.
I’m staying alert. It could be my last chance to escape before Adrian brings this thing with my father to a head.
But he’s seemed troubled all night–not that he’s ever not troubled. My grumpy cinnamon roll. He’s been checking his phone for service and cursing. I get the feeling he’s rethinking his plan. Deciding if he’s really going through with his vendetta.